


it's only the truth.

by eoghainy



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy
Summary: claire decides that it's time to tell jenny and ian the truth.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jenny Fraser/Ian Murray
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	it's only the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> set after laoghaire shoots jamie. & before they head off. somewhere in that space.
> 
> sorry this is so choppy i just wanted to write a mockup situation & it doesn't translate well to my eyes rip.

“We should tell them,” Claire hisses in Jamie’s direction once Jenny’s backside disappears into the kitchen. One look in her vibrant eyes told him that this was not a question, it was a statement, and she wasn’t going to budge on this no matter what. She wanted them to know the whole truth, no matter the cost. Jamie briefly wondered if she even knew _what_ this might cost them; he sure as hell knew that he didn’t. This could really make Jenny think that they have gone over the edge.

“It’s unfair to expect her and Ian to continue accepting our poorly put together lies. I don’t want to keep the truth from them anymore. Jenny doesn’t even trust me; she’s made that very clear. She and Ian both deserve better than this. If _Murtagh_ was able to understand, then so will they.” She carried on in a hushed voice, lips pulled together in one of her poorly maintained scowls. His unbending wife was going to do this with or without him.

“Aye, we should. Yer right on that point, _Sassenach_.” Jamie agrees, his voice heavy with somberness. It rasps in his aching throat, dry and rough with disuse. He was still hazy from his fever, mind muddled from the medication Claire gave him, but he was aware enough to make decisions. Even decisions as cost heavy as this one. “I dinna ken if she’d understand, but we should.” Dirty fingertips drag along his sweaty face, and with a sigh Jamie stands. His weight feels uneven, and for a moment a wave of dizziness crashes over him and threatens to sweep him off his feet, but it passes quickly. “I’ll fetch Ian, ye will get Jenny. We’ll tell them and do it right, no secrets.”

The warm and happy smile that graces Claire’s beautiful face was reward enough for what they were about to do. Gently, her thin fingers tangle in his sweaty shirt and tug him down, and their lips met in a tender, sweet kiss. Claire tasted like the sweetest honey, and Jamie was left with a painful longing as she pulls away from him. How he had managed to survive twenty years without her, he didn’t know. Certainly, he couldn’t survive another twenty _seconds_ without her by his side. That much was just too painfully obvious.

“Off you go, soldier.” Claire pats his scruffy cheek, palm soft on his dry face. Even though she lived in this time with him, the harshness of it never seemed to touch her beautiful skin. She had no wrinkles, no scars, no sunspots. She looked just as youthful and beautiful as the day Murtagh dragged her into their hut. “I think Ian is with Young Jamie out in the field. I heard Jenny order Janet to tell them that it was time to wash up for supper.”

“Thank ye, Claire.” Another tender kiss is shared between them before Jamie pulls away, leaving Claire room to stand up. She takes his hand in a comforting squeeze as she passes, and Jamie cannot help but watch her disappear into the kitchen after Jenny. His heart twists in his chest with the unfamiliar feeling of nerves, but after a settling breath he rouses himself with his quest.

Telling Ian and Jenny the truth wasn’t high on Jamie’s list of priorities. What, with him not yet telling Claire about Laoghaire and Jenny pushing him into it, Young Ian’s tendencies to flee from farm life into Jamie’s life of crime, the search that he left behind in Edinburgh, Laoghaire adding to his collection of scars . . . His life was a right mess currently, and here he was about to make an even _bigger_ mess of it. How his sister and brother-by-law would ever believe him, Jamie couldn’t know. They would think that he and his wife had gone absolutely mad! It was fine. It’s not like Jenny had a high opinion of him lately, anyway.

Chuckling under his breath at the sheer absurdity of his life at the current moment, Jamie makes his way out to the field, following the sounds of Young Jamie’s rousing storytelling and Janet’s pitchy laughter. A quick scan of the field tells him that Ian is not working it with his bairns, and frustration boils in Jamie’s stomach. Could it truly not be so simple as just gathering Ian and Jenny and putting it all on them? No, instead he had to chase Ian all over Lallybroch. How man with a missing leg could outrun him currently was beyond Jamie.

“Aye, ye wee bairns, where is yer father?” Jamie calls out, watching as Young Jamie and Janet’s heads snap up. Janet smiles in relief at his clear recovery, expression akin to clouds parting and revealing the suns golden rays. Such a sweet little lass, nothing like her callous mother. “I must speak with him.”

“Is this about Laoghaire?” Janet’s expression closes down quickly, becoming creased with worry.

“No, dinna fash, lass. I just want to speak wi’ him, that’s all.” Affectionately, Jamie pats the crown of her head. “Now, where did he get off to?”

Young Jamie answers for his sister. “The dovecote. He’s feedin’ them while we finish up here.” The sun glints off his dark hair, casting off an auburn sheen. He looks more and more like Ian every single day, and his attitude reflects his sire as well. He gets only his hair from his mother. Jamie is glad that most of Jenny and Ian’s bairns reflect their father. _Most_. “Everythin’ alright, uncle?”

“Thank ye, lad. No need t’ fash, like I said; all is just fine.” Jamie reassures his nephew with a smile. “Dinner will be delayed fer a bit; yer mother is speaking with yer aunt Claire.” Only too happy to keep the bairns outside where they belong for the duration of this conversation, the lie slips out without any hindrance. They would never know that what he said was only a half-truth.

Changing directions so that he was now making his way towards the dovecote, Jamie presses his palm tenderly against his aching shoulder. His body was brimming with exhaustion from his fever, and all he wanted to do was curl up in bed beside Claire and dream this mess of a day away. But when his wife got something in her head, she oft didn’t let it go until she got her way. It seemed that God would only deem it fit to let him rest when he was dead.

“Ian, are ye that hungry that ye limped yer arse in here to do a bairns chores?” Jamie proclaims in his best authoritative voice as he enters the dovecote. The scent of bird shit attacks his senses and he instantly frowns, brows pulling down over his nose. He always hated this place.

“Aye, ‘m starved.” Ian replies noncommittedly, spreading seed with the hand that wasn’t resting upon his cane. “Bone weary, too. I want to eat early tonight ‘n get off to sleep.” Ian _did_ look tired, Jamie notices, and feels a prickle of guilt at the fact that he was going to be keeping him up. Ian worked hard, harder than most; the last thing he needed on one of his more difficult work days was to deal with all of this. “What do ye need?”

Lowering his voice considerably so that any nosy bairns did not overhear, Jamie spoke. “I kent Jenny told ye that she thinks Claire is lyin’. Aye, my sister has always had a keen nose for liars. So, we have decided t’ let ye both in on what’s goin’ on.”

Ian’s eyes narrow considerably in surprise. Jamie knows that look. “I wanted t’ think of the best of ye both, and that ye weren’t keepin’ anything from us. I canna believe Jenny was right.” The frown on his lips was more concerned than angry. “Well, I suppose it’s going to be quite the wee tale, knowing ye both. Shall we go?”

Jamie supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at Ian’s easy acceptance of his words, yet he still found himself in awe of Ian’s ability to accept anything that he was told. It didn’t matter what information Ian was given, he always accepted it all without question. This, though, would be pushing it. It pushed at the frail edges of Jamie’s faith all the time, and Murtagh may have accepted it well enough – but Jenny has never left Lallybroch, and Ian might live in an accepting world but even he can only accept so much.

Together, they enter the estate to find Claire and Jenny awkwardly waiting in the dining room. Jenny was sitting with her head up, chin jutting out at an angle; eyes glinting with thinly veiled curiosity. Claire had the grace to look nervous, fingers picking nervously at her sleeves and gaze cast downward. Unable to help himself, Jamie went to her side immediately, his hand finding a place on her bony shoulder. Her hand reached up to gently grab his fingers, and Jamie couldn’t help a small smile.

“So, did ye call me away from dinner just t’ sit me at the table? If so, I dinna believe it was all that urgent.” Jenny’s voice leaks with impatience. “Sit, Ian, ye look dead on yer feet.” In a flash she was on her feet, pulling out a chair for Ian to sit in. Her husband gave her a grateful look. “Will this take very long?”

As Jamie sat himself, he and Claire eyed each other. She made no move to speak, so he did. “Aye, Jenny, it will. Dinna fash, I told yer bairns dinner was delayed. I . . . would grab a wee nip of whiskey, Claire has a lot t’ say.”

Looking doubtful now, Jenny did as she was told and got up, pouring four glasses and even went as far to grab a basket of bannocks to put on the table. As she was setting it all down, she explained. “Best not t’ starve t’ death whilst Claire talks. Poor Ian here is starved. My man needs to eat.”

Expectantly, two pairs of eyes settled upon Claire. His wife looked quite nervous to be the center of attention, so once again Jamie spoke to buy her some time to gather herself. If he had to, he would tell Jenny and Ian everything himself just to spare Claire the pain of it. “Now, I once told ye that sometimes, Claire would say some strange things, and that ye would have t’ trust her on it. I wasna tryin’ to deceive ye, but we needed yer trust. We still do. What she has t’ say is . . . it’s not easy. But it truly will explain everythin’.”

His wife heaved a deep, steadying sigh and took a sip of her whiskey. Jamie could see fingers were trembling, and her knuckles were white. “I ask only your patience, your trust, and your understanding. Please, save all questions for when I am finished.” Jamie watches as Jenny and Ian nod in unison, unspeaking.

“Jenny, Ian . . . I was born in the year nineteen-eighteen, in London, England. My parents died when I was five years old, and I was raised by my uncle after that. He took me all over the world – where I learned history, archaeology, everything I could have ever wanted. I was not at a loss with my education in my childhood. I grew up fast under his care, and met my first husband, Frank Randall, when he came to visit my uncle for guidance. Frank was also a historian, and I was taken by him and his knowledge – I fell quickly in love with him. We were married in nineteen thirty-seven, and we spent our early years of marriage nomadically. Never settling in one home for too long, we were constantly moving around until something called a . . . World War broke out. It was the second one, actually.

“I can’t even begin to explain to you both what a World War is. In short, essentially, a majority of the countries in the world were at war with one another; everyone was fighting for any reason that they could find. I joined the war efforts as a nurse – or, healer, I mean – where I would be tending to the wounded and doing what I could to minimize the casualties. Frank and I spent many years apart during the war, and when it was finally over, we reunited under uncertain terms. I was worried that our marriage wasn’t going to be the same after so much time apart, and this was a concern that Frank shared, so Frank and I decided to go on a second honeymoon – a chance to truly reconnect and relearn the people that we now were, together. To rekindle what we might have lost.”

Claire took a steading breath as she reaches for her whiskey, eyes falling shut briefly. Jamie could tell from Jenny’s expression that she was not believing any of this, not just yet. Worry ate a hole in his stomach, and he reached for Claire’s hand, needing her reassurance just as much as she needed his. The silence between Ian and Jenny was _more_ than concerning. Gently, his thumb strokes against the curve of her palm as he waits for her to continue.

“We agreed to go to Scotland for our second honeymoon; it wasn’t too far away, and it wouldn’t be too expensive. Frank had a contact in Scotland that was helping him discover the history of his family. As he learned of his lineage and of the great Randall bloodline, I explored Scotland’s history to keep myself occupied during his search. He took all along the highlands and any historical marker; Culloden Moor, Craigh na Dun . . .” Claire’s voice trailed off, and her eyes glaze over; there was a certain intensity in her gaze that Jamie couldn’t ignore. “You know that bloody ballad, the one about the woman on the fairy hill who falls through the stones, finds a man that she loves, then returns to that very same fairy hill to take up with her old lover again? _That is my life_. When I heard that song for the very first time, with Jamie translating it for me, I _knew_ that what I had been through was more than just a story. It was _real_.

“Frank and I, we spied upon this ritual the night before I went back to Craigh na Dun. These women, witches I believe, were singing in Gaelic and dancing and crying out their prayers to the moon; it was the most beautifully haunting thing I’ve ever seen, and I felt like an unwelcome vouyer to their private dealings. When they were finished at dawn, Frank and I investigated, and I found an herb that I longed to know the name of. Its visage stayed with me even long after we left and drove me to return.

“In my selfishness, and in my arrogance, I went back to Craigh na Dun to find the flower. The closer I got to the stones, the louder this horrible, deafening buzzing sounded in my ears; I felt drawn to the largest stone there, the one with the jagged top, and . . . I touched it. I couldn’t help myself, I _had_ to just put my fingertips on it, at the very least. And in the next instant, after a sickening spin through crushing, everlasting darkness, I was waking up at Craigh na Dun. But where the grass I knew before was yellowed, brittle and dry, it was suddenly as green as an emerald; lush flora and bushes surrounded me when before there had been nothing but open moor and rocky terrain. Suddenly, I _knew_. I knew I was not where I was.

“Terrified and panicked, I ran into the woods in my desperation to find my way back to Inverness, where Frank and I had been staying. I was terrified, alone, and there was nothing I could do about it. Touching the stone at Craigh na Dun hadn’t even crossed my mind; all I wanted to do was get back to my husband, so I fled. I ran into Black Jack Randall, who – as I have told Jamie – resembled my husband so greatly that I fell into a trap of familiarity. I approached him as if he were Frank and regretted my mistake quickly; he attacked me without remorse. Murtagh saved me from what Randall could have and would have done and brought me to Dougal. Once I had gathered my bearings and realized what had happened, I spent my time with the Mackenzie Clan trying to escape and return back to Craigh na Dun, so that I could return home. To my husband. To my own time. But every single attempt I made to flee, my plans were thwarted, and so I never was able to make it back.

“I told the truth to Jamie after I was tried for being a witch alongside of Geillis Duncan. During the trial, before Jamie rescued me, I discovered that Geillis also was not from this time. She had the exact same inoculation scar as me, for the same sickness, and one of the last things she ever said to me was a year. A year that had not yet happened for me, but had already happened for her. She, too, had come through the stones; and she knew that I had as well. I had begun to doubt that I could go back, that it was even _possible_ , and later on something she had said stuck with me. She said she believed that I could. That it was possible, a reality, that I could return back to my time. My year. Nineteen forty-five.

“When I told Jamie all of this, he believed me. He led me to believe that we were heading to Lallybroch, when in reality he was taking me to Craigh na Dun. Jamie wanted me to go back through the stones, back to Frank – if that was what I really wanted. He left me there so that I could go back in peace – without having to have him holding me back. But I _couldn’t_. I _couldn’t_ leave Jamie, nor could I leave whilst knowing what was about to happen to everyone I loved here. So, I stayed here in eighteenth century Scotland, while the rest of my world in nineteen forty-five went on without me.

“For so long, all that I had wanted was to go home. I wanted to go home to Frank, to England, to my own time where I wouldn’t be in danger and wouldn’t be such an outcast. No part of me _ever_ expected to fall in love with Jamie, to fall in love with Scotland as a whole; I never thought that I would love my life here _so much_ , but I did. A place that had been a hell for me became home, the only place I ever wanted to be. As much as I loved Frank and missed him, I realized something about our relationship.

“Frank was my first love. My idealistic life of domesticity, of taking Sunday drives and going to work every weekday; reading the paper in the morning over tea and breakfast. It was simplicity. Settling. Jamie, as cliché as it sounds, is my true love. My soulmate. A never-ending well of surprise and spontaneity; a pure sensation of just complete and utter true love. Being with Jamie had made my heart sing in ways that being with Frank never inspired within me. I could not return to Frank, not when my heart would remain here.

“When I realized that history would still take place and still tear Scotland apart, I told Jamie about the Jacobite uprising, and how Scotland would suffer terribly because of it. The Battle of Culloden. The bonny Prince Charles, and how the British army would become such a _force_ against their enemies. When we set off for France, we decided that we were going to try and change things. Prevent the uprising, stop the Jacobite’s in their tracks. Doing such an impossible thing put a strain upon our marriage; it consumed us, and it nearly drove us apart. We still failed. We did everything that we could, short of killing Prince Charles; history truly worked against us to ensure that Scotland got ground down into the dirt.

“In Paris, Jamie made me promise that if the Battle of Culloden was to happen, then I was to go back through the stones. That if all else would fail, if we could not change things, I would keep my word and go back. I fought Jamie hard, for I would have much rather died with him at Culloden, but Jamie knew I had something to live for. To protect. I was pregnant with our daughter; I had no choice. So, I went through; I lived the next twenty years with my first husband, Frank, raising _my_ daughter with him and trying to forget the life that still called to me in my dreams.

“After Frank passed away, and my daughter and I took a trip to London to visit family – we found ourselves in Scotland to attend a funeral. There, my daughter found proof that she was not Frank’s daughter, and I told her the truth. All of it; the stones, all of this, how Frank knew and how he still accepted her as his own. It took her _watching_ Geillis Duncan disappear through the stones at Craigh na Dun for her to believe me, to truly understand that what I had been saying was the truth.

“With the help of a friend, we started to look for evidence that Jamie survived Culloden. We scoured detailed reports, diaries, unofficial documents – anything we could get our hands on until we found evidence of Jamie’s capture at Culloden and his ‘escape’. We kept searching, and we found evidence of his name on a yearly prison ledger, dating up until the prisons closure. I thought that I had lost him after that, that I would never find him again and surely, he had died, until we found the _slightest_ bit of evidence he was still alive. His printing business, listed underneath his middle names.

“When I saw that, the proof that he was still alive in the same year as I currently was in, just a two hundred year difference, I knew I had to go. I _knew_ I had to go back. I put it off, unwilling to leave my daughter, until she convinced me to go. I came back through the stones and hunted Jamie down in Edinburgh and vowed never, _ever_ to leave him again.”

The story came pouring out of Claire slowly at first, and then all at once. It seemed to be such a heavy burden that she carried on her narrow shoulders, and to relieve it now, after all this time, seemed to be exactly what she’s been needing. Her glass was drained of whiskey, and her eyes were puffy with unshed tears; Jamie absolutely _ached_ with the need to comfort her. To warm his arms around her shoulders, to kiss her temple and stroke her hair, to remind her that she was so, so loved by him. He didn’t dare pull his gaze from her face, for fear of what he would find in Jenny and Ian’s eyes.

“If you don’t believe me, I brought some things with me this time around – photographs of our daughter, Brianna, named after your father; if she had been a boy, I would have named her Brian. I brought needles and medicine, and even the fabric of my clothes are different than yours. I made this outfit at home myself.” Claire insists in the wake of their growing silence. Jamie’s doubts began to fester and grow.

“I saw her go through the stones. I was holdin’ her, and then she was gone. Disappeared. And then she comes back after twenty years? It sounds like madness, I ken it. I ken it well. It is the truth. Here,” Jamie dug around in his trouser pockets before pulling out the stack of photographs that Claire had brought with her, protected in the . . . bag that Claire had put them in. Hurriedly, he takes them out and holds them out to Jenny. “Look. This bairn is Brianna, my daughter. _Our_ daughter. Ye ken?”

Jenny reaches for the photographs, mistrust in her eyes, whilst Ian stays stock still. There is a tightness to his jaw that Jamie does not trust.

“Who else knows?” Ian asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I ken we aren’t the first t’ hear this tale.”

“Murtagh. We told him in Paris because we needed his support to thwart the uprising.” Claire answers easily without any hesitation. “Other than that, we haven’t told anyone else. We haven’t _trusted_ anyone else with this information. How could anyone understand it when we barely understand it ourselves?” Her hands shake as Jamie takes them in his own again, and he follows her gaze to the photographs in Jenny’s hands. Jenny shifts through them slowly, taking her time examining each one. Her eyes are dark and wide, absorbing every detail in the film.

Their silence stretches on, and Jamie grows more nervous with every second that neither Ian nor Jenny don’t speak. Finally, after the minutes stretch on, Jenny looks up from the photographs in her grasp. Her lips are drawn in a fine line. Jamie notes the way her brows are furrowed, pulled taut across her forehead. He can’t read her expression, and quietly braces himself for the storm she could possibly unleash.

Jenny’s voice is rough when she gathers the courage to speak. “She looks like ye,” she shakes the stack in her hand. “Brianna, ye say? I hate it.”

Jamie chokes out a surprised laugh, heart soaring in his chest at his sister’s silent acceptance. “Aye, it is an unfortunate name for a lass.”

“Would you two stop making fun of my poor daughters name? Both of you can be so bloody awful.” Claire leans back in her chair, frustration clear in her eyes. Her annoyance eases as she voices the question Jamie was thinking. “So . . . do you two believe me? Believe _us_?”

Ian releases a heavy sigh. He looks tired and older than Jamie remembers him being. “I dinna ken any of this, I dinna think I ever will.” As Claire’s expression begins to fall, Ian hurries to continue. “ _But_ , it makes sense. The weird things ye know, telling us t’ plant the potatoes that saved us after Culloden, how ye disappeared for so long and all yer clumsy lyin’. Even if I canna wrap my head around it, I can accept it. I can tell yer tellin’ us the truth now. It only took ye so long.”

“I believe ye.” Jenny’s voice is soft, a gentle compliment to Ian’s husky drawl. “Craigh na Dun has always been a powerful place, a site of strange magic that should not be. This is not the first story I’ve ‘eard of someone meeting with an untimely fate. It’s just the first time the story has sat before me very eyes and told me it t’was the truth.”

Claire exhales in relief, and all the tension that Jamie had been holding in his chest disperses. He’s never doubted his sister, never doubted her love for him and his chosen mate, but the truth could drive people to strange places. Especially those who had never wandered farther than their own farm.

“I wish ye had told us sooner. Would have saved many years of pain and sufferin’.” Jenny can’t help herself as she throws out the guilt provoking comment. So used to it, to _her_ and her ways, the words slide off of his and Claire’s skin like water off of feathers. “So, only Murtagh knows yer pretty secret?”

“Aye. We had t’ tell him when we were in France, so that he would continue t’ help us. He took it well.”

“After he hit you, of course.” Claire’s fingers fondly touched the spot on his cheek where Murtagh’s fist had connected with his flesh. “I watched through the window – it was a good hook. Knocked you flat on the ground.”

Jamie grunts his agreement. “T’was.”

“So ye told Murtagh before ye told yer own sister? How cruel of ye, brother.” Jenny’s expression is drawn again, frustration and anger making her appear colder than she was. “I’ll be sure t’ remember that slight in th’ future.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Jamie says fondly, reaching his hand across the table to grab one of the forgotten bannocks. They were cold and sad now, but his insides were still hollow with hunger. “If there had been occasion to tell ye about all this, we would have. There was none.”

Jenny opens her mouth to speak, falling thankfully silent when the front door opens and footsteps enter the house. Three times during Claire’s long story had they sent the bairns away with promises of dinner coming soon, and it seemed that the fourth time was due. It’s little Ian, his childishly round face peering around the corner with his lips quirked into a smile. “Can we all eat now?”

Jenny’s eyes roll as she gets to her feet, hands smoothing down her layers of skirts as she did so. “Yes, yes ye wee thing, it’s finally time. We’re done talking.”

The look that Jenny shot Jamie before she left said that no, they were not done talking – but at least it was over for now. They could have a thousand more conversations about this in the future, when the bairns were deep asleep or working away outdoors, but for now it was time to relish in the time that they had together and dig into the wondrous meal that Jenny had prepared in the other room.

Once upon a time, there would never had been an occasion where he could confide so deeply in his sister. There had never once been a whisper of thought, a need to; he had been content keeping the burden of knowledge deep down in the darkest of abyss where it would never be discovered by anyone. He had never imagined the _relief_ that he’d feel upon allowing someone else to see the whole picture, upon allowing someone else to carry the weight of this – even for just a moment. This was what he had been ignoring, what he had been unable to share with her.

He should have so much sooner; having her full support in this, would it have saved him the pain that he had endured without Claire being by his side? Would it have saved him the horrors of the prison, saved him from fathering Willie?

Jamie could drive himself mad with such thoughts. What had happened had happened, and there was no way that they were going to change any of it. What they _could_ do was relish the time that they had left and stop with all the lies. They could fix the relationships they had broken, rebuild the bridges they had burnt; things could finally be what they should have been in the first place.

This was all he needed, truly. The love and support of his family, and the undying love of his beautiful, magical wife. And perhaps the incredibly delayed dinner that was being plated currently.


End file.
